Yesterday, I drove to Bunbury to attend a Quiet Day. About a month ago, I saw the day advertised and recall thinking how fortuitous it was to be on that particular date as I wrote it in permanent ink in my diary. Knowing myself a little too well, I was aware that if I did not do something like this soon after completing my placement, I would rush straight into the busyness I would create. Sure enough, yesterday morning, many other things seemed more appealing than driving to Bunbury.
It was an important day to reflect on this in between space in which I find myself. We were given the seasonal readings to ponder on, and it struck me that we are in that in between time, after Easter and before Pentecost. I then walked outside for a while and was captured by the autumn leaves on the ground. Creation is in that in between phase also, summer has ended and winter hasn't quite begun. I gathered some of what I found on the ground, tried to capture the colour in a mandala, and wrote these words.
Autumn Leaves
Crimson and amber
tongues of fire
layer the ground
like an earthy Pentecost.
Dry and crisp
spent and worn
from the journey
but here they lie
detached
from where they once
soaked in the sun.
Transformed in the falling
transfigured in the breeze.
Sweep them together
as one
let them be beds
where children
play and fall.
Leave them to decay
and may the seeds
among them
find strength
to die
and find life.
One of the first questions I was asked after announcing that I was going to take a leave of absence from ministry was, "Have you spoken with your professional supervisor about this?" My initial reaction was offence. Of course I have! What do you take me for? Fortunately, those comments stayed in my head. I have always taken professional supervision very seriously and have been blessed with some fantastic people throughout my ministry journey. I consider my supervisor to be the one who I can be truly honest about how ministry is travelling. In my experience, the supervisor's role is to hear you, challenge you, help you to be reflective about your role and hold you accountable.
Almost two years ago now, my supervisor of seven years became ill and was unable to continue our supervision relationship. At the time, I was upset. This was the man who had helped me define who I was in ministry, given me the courage to speak out and attempted to instil in me a good pattern of self care. He had listened to some of my most personal dreams, witnessed my confessions of doubts and encouraged me when I was feeling hopeless. I wasn't sure if I would find another supervisor quite like him.
Well, for almost two years now, I have been journeying with another supervisor. Last week, we had our final session together and I have been reflecting on how important this relationship has been for me over what has been quite a tumultuous period of my ministry. The sessions have been rather different to those with my previous supervisor, but for this I am very grateful. I think I have talked more. There has been a lot to get out of my head. Being able to do this with someone who doesn't have a hidden agenda has been very important. Colleagues, family and friends have all been there too, but sometimes they are a little too involved in the what the final outcome may be.
My supervisor has listened to me with interest, compassion and empathy. She has reflected back what she has heard. Sometimes the images she has used have shocked me or resonated so closely they have stayed with me for days. At times I have walked into the room confused and feeling hopeless, only to emerge an hour later with more clarity and conviction. My supervisor has never told me what she thinks I should do. She hasn't given wise advice or whipped me into line, but I always left feeling heard, acknowledged and ready to face the next stage.
I guess if I was to express this relationship with an image I think of two people walking across rocks at the beach. The two don't always take the same path and will choose different rocks to jump to next, but they come back together occasionally. Every now and then, one finds a leap to the next rock a little challenging. These are the times when one reaches out their hand to the other, giving enough confidence to take that next step. This is how it has been and I am extremely grateful to have had a person with whom to journey through this time. I know she will possibly read this post - so again thank you!!
Yesterday evening, as the sun had almost disappeared, I packed up the last of the candles from a Blue Christmas service. It felt like something was ending. There was a tinge of sadness. After seven years of conducting this service annually for both the towns to which I minister, this would be the last one for the foreseeable future. Next year, I will be leaving my ministry placement to pursue further study and to develop Deep Water Dwelling further.
Over the last few months, there have been a few "lasts", aspects of my ministry that I won't be involved in again. None had brought the same feelings that arose as I put the blue baubles in the box, not sure if they would be used next year. Fortunately, the drive from Augusta home is long enough to reflect and wind down before launching back into family life.
During the service, I spoke about grief, loss and suffering. The only reason we experience grief and loss is because we loved something. As I often say at funerals, "To love someone, is to risk the pain of parting". And so, I pondered what it was I loved about this simple, reflective service that had caused this sense of loss. It wasn't the people. Not because I don't love them, but because I will continue to see them for another four months. I certainly won't miss the crazy lead up to Christmas that is part of a minister's life.
It is more about the intent of this service. When I plan Blue Christmas, there is a lot of thought into creating a safe, sacred space where people can be authentic. It is about peeling back the layers that have been plastered over the Gospel message to reveal the deep core of the story. It is gentle. It is open. It is real. That's what I love about conducting this service and that is what I will miss. The grief experienced has shown me a need within myself to create spaces that are authentic, simple and real.
Autumn Leaves
